


Living After Midnight

by Eralk Fang (EralkFang)



Category: Rock of Ages (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-07-25
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EralkFang/pseuds/Eralk%20Fang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know I’ve been a bit… well, a bit <i>myself</i> in the past, and I can’t guarantee that women won’t throw themselves at me, I mean, honestly—” Lonny gestures to himself—“but things are different now.” Dennis and Lonny adjust to their new relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from [the Judas Priest song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxsSVNhyiKk). Kind of written in response to the fact that Dennis and Lonny don’t really act like a couple after “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” in the film. My fondness for them and the fact I can’t believe such a subtle and classy film would miss out on the classic wake-up gag compels me.

December, even on the Sunset Strip, is cold, but the Bourbon Room is, as usual, hot, humid, and sticky. It’s almost midnight and everyone is somewhere on the spectrum between tipsy and sloshed. Lonny wouldn’t have it any other way.

The last act is playing their second encore to an enclave of fans still crowding the stage, an enclave consisting almost entirely of nubile and scantily-clad young women; through the haze, they almost resemble Stacee Jaxx’s troop of pet supermodels. Well, ex-troop, last he’d heard.

The regulars and other patrons are milling around—Dennis is floating around somewhere, but Lonny isn’t needed at the moment, so he’s taking the temperature of the room, keeping people off the floor and glasses full. A shriek from onstage startles Lonny, and he looks up to see the bass guitarist in contortions. _He’s either very passionate about his craft_ , Lonny thinks, _or in the throes of an epileptic fit_. Lonny ventures into the pit to get a better look.

He’s just passionate, but Lonny stays in the pit. The enclave’s energy is _amazing_ , the kind they like to cultivate at the Bourbon; it’s like being in some sort of noisy, life-giving womb, or what he’s always thought of when he hears the word “sorority” (after topless pillow fights, of course). He basks in it as the song _finally_ ends and the enclave loses its collective mind; one or two sadistic souls beg for another encore, but the musicians wave them off, looking downright dehydrated.

“That was amazing,” a woman next to him yells in his ear. He grins and nods at her; he can see the markers of someone having their minds—and eardrums—utterly blown by good music. She’s cute and _short_ , even in those heels and even with that hair. The kind of girl he used to go for, before.

Lonny suddenly realizes that he hasn't interacted with many attractive available ladies since Dennis (well, since Dennis _recently_ ), and the beat where he would usually offer up a drink is awkwardly blank. Just when he realizes he’s staring at her, Short-Even-in-Heels lunges for him.

It’s a pretty impressive leap, all things considered; had they not been in the pit, he would have been knocked flat on his ass. But the enclave catches his fall and forces him back upright, where he realizes she’s got her legs wrapped around his waist like a boa constrictor.

She’s also got her tongue down his throat. Lonny is so surprised that he doesn’t react for a moment, which she takes as encouragement, and it takes him some time to figure out a way to remove her face from his without dislodging her entirely and dumping her unceremoniously on the floor.

“Sorry, love.” He shakes his head.

“Oh,” she says, her black lipstick hopelessly smeared. “Um, sorry, I thought—you know, I’m not usually…” she trails off. Lonny can’t think of what to say, so he grins at her, and she grins back. “Um, I think I’m going to need help getting down.”

“That was an astonishing move,” he says as he stoops down to let her deploy her legs gently back onto the floor. “That would have worked on anybody else, I promise, you just have shite timing.”

Her hands are still linked behind her neck. “Really? Thanks. Sorry, again.” She pecks him chastely on the cheek before melting into the dissipating enclave, which recedes around Lonny.

Lonny doesn’t have much experience turning down girls, especially cute, short ones with clear futures in gymnastics, so he feels quite pleased with himself about his handling of the situation. He wipes his nose absent-mindedly and glances up at the bar.

Dennis is leaning against the railing, watching him with his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised. Lonny is suddenly acutely aware of how much black lipstick stains.

—

Lonny tries to wash off most of the lipstick with a wet napkin in the men’s bathroom, but it just ends up shredding and making his chin grey. _That’s some industrial strength maquillage_ , he thinks to himself, before hesitantly entering Dennis’ office.

Dennis is sitting on the couch, which is a good sign; when Dennis is angry, he likes to put a protective barrier between him and the person who is making him angry. Something about the vibes. He looks tired, the kind of look that makes Lonny want to kiss it better. But it’s probably in poor taste to kiss your boyfriend with some other woman’s lipstick apparently permanently stained into your skin. But he’s also not sure what Dennis thinks he saw, so he inches further into the room and asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Lonny, how serious are you about this?” Dennis asks, and he doesn’t have to gesture for Lonny to know what “this” refers to.

“Dead serious, you know that, man,” Lonny says; his face instantly falls from polite interest to deep concern. He shouldn’t _have_ to say it. They’ve been through _everything_ together; he’s kind of hurt that Dennis would doubt him. He decides to come clean. “Look, that girl just _attacked_ me, right? You should have seen it—she should be our next bouncer, she’s like a tiny little spider monkey with ridiculous upper body strength—”

He knows he’s babbling, but he’s trying to communicate everything at once in order to exonerate himself from whatever Dennis suspects him of. Lonny’s never been in a relationship long enough to have a first fight, and he’s kind of terrified to find out what a first fight might entail. There’s just too much riding on it to risk it.

“So _she_ kissed _you_?” Dennis finally asks.

“Yes, yes, that is exactly what I am trying to communicate here.” Lonny nods fervently. Dennis, who has been leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees, leans back, and Lonny takes it as a cue to join him on the couch, kneeling beside him. “I know I’ve been a bit… well, a bit _myself_ in the past, and I can’t guarantee that women won’t throw themselves at me, I mean, honestly—” Lonny gestures to himself—“but things are different now.”

Lonny thinks he’s been pretty clear, but then Dennis _sighs_ and he can feel it reverberate through the sofa and his own chest. He elaborates: “Look, I’ve been in love with you for forever and I’ve been fucking birds for forever— _previous to our recent mutual declaration of affection, not after, I stress this_ —and they’ve not got a thing to do with each other. I promise.”

Lonny puts on his best earnest face and grabs Dennis’ head to touch their foreheads; sappy, he knows, but very effective.

Dennis relaxes at this, and brings up his hands to hold Lonny’s wrists. But then he sighs _again_. “I don’t know, Lonny…”

Lonny _freezes_. He said it first, so he’s got the most to lose. If Dennis wants to back out of this—

“Sometimes I feel like you’re not interested.”

Lonny’s sudden fear is replaced just as suddenly with confusion. “Not interested? What gave you that impression, pray tell? Did I seem a little out to lunch when I went down on you not two days ago?”

Lonny lunges for Dennis to continue proving his point, but Dennis leans back. Lonny’s kiss lands on Dennis’ cheek and he ends up sprawled atop Dennis on the couch. He can work with this.

“Lonny, when we’re out in public, sometimes you barely look at me.” Dennis leans his head back onto the armrest and Lonny awkwardly jackknifes himself into a comfortable position, keeping a hand at the waist of Dennis’ jeans. _You always need an exit strategy_ , he reasons.

“Do you want me to make out with you in the middle of traffic? If that’s what it takes, my friend, I absolutely will.” Lonny says. “I will put Stacee and Constance to shame if that’s what it takes.”

They pause a moment, trying to imagine what frontiers Stacee and Constance have left for ordinary couples.

“No,” Dennis says, shaking his head. “But it would be nice to hold hands at a concert or just sit close together. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Yes, absolutely, anything,” Lonny starts to say, partly because he wants to make sure Dennis knows this is absolute fact, and partly because his pants are getting a little tight and he can think of a few fun ways to deal with that before getting back onto the floor.

“I’m just…” Dennis continues, letting the last word trail off ominously.

“You’re just what?” Lonny props his head up, his elbow resting on the arm of the couch. The neon lights coming through the windows are harsh on Dennis’ face, rendering it full of shadows and valleys; Lonny reaches out and traces the edge of his face, as he’s wanted to do so many times but couldn’t. But _wouldn’t_. He smiles, fondly.

But his own face must be in shadow, because Dennis winces a little at the touch. “I’m just _old_ ,” Dennis says. “When I saw you with that girl—“

“Short-Even-In-Heels, she has a name, Dennis, God,” Lonny says; Dennis ignores him.

“You guys looked _right_ together, you know? And we… well. I’m old, I’m…” Dennis lays a hand on his belly.

“A big fellow?” Lonny offers.

“Well, that sounds better than _fat_ ,” Dennis considers. “And you’re…”

“A scrawny Limey that looks like a horse crossed with a toilet brush?” Lonny offers again; Dennis laughs at the description.

“First off,” Lonny says, smiling, “you’re _not_ old. I’m almost forty myself, though I don’t look it, _obviously_.”

Dennis starts to say something about being in high school when Lonny was born—which is true—but Lonny runs right over him. “Anyway, you’re gorgeous, you are. You’ve got amazing eyes, I like having something to hold onto, and your _fucking_ hands, man—” Lonny grabs Dennis’ left hand and sloppily kisses his ankh tattoo. “And you’re the only man I know who can pull off leopard print.”

Dennis cranes his neck to look at Lonny. “You really think I pull it off?”

“No, but you try, and I respect that.” Lonny hooks a finger around one of Dennis’ belt loops, more as a way to anchor himself to Dennis rather than an expedient way to pull down his pants, although that’s not far from Lonny’s mind.

“Anyway, I don’t love you ‘cause you’re gorgeous, although it’s a very generous bonus. Short-Even-in-Heels was gorgeous and I’m not in love with _her_.” He considers listing off a handful of gorgeous ex-girlfriends, but that’s definitely a bad idea. “I love you ‘coz you’re you, mate. You’re always calm, you’ve forgotten more things about rock than I’ll ever know, and you put up with me.”

They lay in a silence for a moment, and then: “You’ve been in love with me forever?”

“Do you remember the day we went to that carnival?”

“You still remember that? I thought you said you couldn’t remember 1980.”

“Of course I still remember that. It was the first time you were a person and not my boss, you know? We kicked those kids off the carousel and we played minigolf until those carnies kicked _us_ out. That’s when it started. Well, that’s when I realized what it was.”

There’s a pause; Lonny lays his head on Dennis’ shoulder.

“Lonny, that was almost seven years ago.”

“Fucking forever, mate.” Lonny kisses his cheek. “I’ve been madly in love with you for a good long time, so don’t you think I’m going to back out of this.”

“…you know, I think that’s when—“

“If you say you realized it on that stupid carousel seven years ago, that’s way too sappy. Even for us.” Lonny says, but Dennis just smiles at him knowingly, and Lonny knows they’re saps. It’s incredibly un-rock and roll, but he doesn’t care. He kisses him again.

“You feel better now? About everything? About us?”

“I would prefer that we act like a couple in public. Within reason, of course.”

“You have very specific rules against public displays of affection in the workplace, Dennis.”

“I do? Oh, yes. Damn that Jonathan. Well, maybe not at work. Distracting and all that.”

“I should _say_ ,” Lonny leers, and leans over to kiss Dennis with purpose. Dennis hums—the weirdest discovery Lonny has made (so far; they’ve got a lot of time to make up for) is that Dennis hums before he moans. Lonny likes it.

“But—” Dennis says when they come up for air, and Lonny is a patient man, but there are some _limits_.

“I’ll try, love,” he says, and then he’s straddling Dennis and reassuring him without words.

—

The New Year’s Eve party at the Bourbon Room is a huge shindig; Lonny’s trying to be everywhere at once, managing the lighting cues that get more complex every year, searching for missing equipment, and trying to tease the nerves out of the local band that got the eleven thirty to midnight slot on the ticket. The Bourbon is so packed that he’s just resorted climbing over people.

The local band isn’t awful, but they sounded better and more confident doing a cover for their audition. But the audience doesn’t really care, because the energy is good. Everyone’s buzzing, laughing, singing, or screaming; a few brave souls have perched themselves in the rafters, drinking while trying not to spill a drop, which they fail at.

One of these people is Short-Even-in-Heels; Lonny is surprised he remembers her, but she doesn’t remember him—she barely glances at him before returning to talking animatedly with an enormous ginger gentleman, and the way they’re talking reminds him—well, it reminds him of him and Dennis at home.

He glances around to see if he can spot him, and there he is, talking quietly with a guy who is square enough to seem like management. Lonny wonders when these guys ever take a day off, as he clambers through and over the crowd to Dennis.

“Thanks, Pete,” Dennis says, sending him away. “Yes?”

“Nothing, just checking on you—it’s almost time for your speech, you know,” Lonny says. It’s eleven forty-five.

“Oh my God, I almost forgot. Shoo the band off, will you?”

“You got it.”

Soon, Lonny is onstage, the musicians receding before him. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for choosing the Bourbon Room to ring in 1988,” he says. “If you’ve not been with us for this esteemed holiday before, our owner, Dennis Dupree, likes to say a little something before we descend into an orgy of kissing and more drinking or, as we like to call it, just another Thursday.”

Cheers, which falter and fade as Dennis fails to appear.

“Dennis,” Lonny says into the mike, squinting into the crowd to locate him. “Dennis, get your ass on stage now, or I will find a way to punish you memorably.”

Dennis catches up and wanders onstage. “Don’t promise,” he murmurs in Lonny’s ear, as he takes the mike away. Lonny grins and bites his lip.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this has been a huge year for the Bourbon Room. We’ve had quite some highs and lows…”

And Dennis goes on to to detail their insane year, highlighting Stacee, of course, Arsenal, and Van Colt. Lonny watches him. Dennis doesn’t demand attention, like a rock star; rather, he’s approachable. But everyone’s paying attention to him because he deserves it. He’s calmly presiding over the crowd, like a professor or something.

Lonny is momentarily stunned by the image of Dennis as a renegade professor, and tucks that image away for later use.

“But none of this could have happened without each and every one of you. So thank you, and have a rocking new year.”

Dennis ends not a moment too soon, as someone in the rafters drunkenly yells, “Sixty!”

The entire club picks up the countdown, chanting it like an Aerosmith lyric.

Lonny sidles up to Dennis at thirty, and, at one, the whole Bourbon Room erupts, shrieking “Happy New Year!” at each other, hugging and kissing.

Dennis’ own “Happy New Year!” is swallowed by Lonny, who has grabbed Dennis by the shoulders and kissed him smack on mouth, taking advantage of the fact that Dennis’ mouth is open.

The crowd or, rather, the few that are paying attention, shriek or laugh, but Lonny doesn’t care. He pulls back to look in Dennis’ eyes. “Happy New Year,” Dennis finishes, looking, for once, taken by surprise. And then he smiles at Lonny, the kind of smile that makes his blue eyes twinkle and Lonny melt like he’s been melting for seven years.

“Happy new year, babe,” Lonny murmurs, and smiles back.


End file.
